Steady
by Oasis Blackmore
Summary: It was Dean’s way of dealing with the emotions that knocked him off-balance. Sam-centric. Thanksgiving fic. Oneshot. Post "Abandon All Hope."


Steady

Sam hadn't been sure when Dean would react to their situation.

Their loss. Their failure.

At the same time that Sam was grieving the death of his fellow hunters, he was also grieving the death of yet another point of stability, the kind of stability that Dean desperately needed, the kind that could only be maintained through relationships with people outside their brotherhood.

Dean didn't deal well with _feelings_, didn't like to talk about them. Instead, he coped with actions, with bloody knuckles against plaster, with shrugging shoulders and a mask-like smirk.

Lucifer couldn't be killed with the Colt; Dean had been wrong; _friends_ were dead; and after a week, Dean still hadn't channeled his emotions into denting the Impala or insulting his loved ones. Frankly, Sam had been worried, had been fretting and frowning and silently observing, whirling in his own mental turmoil--until Thursday.

On Thursday, Sam woke to the sound of a V8 revving off Bobby's property and toward the nearest highway, and he just _knew_; Dean was reacting.

Sam had been expecting some kind of outburst from his brother, of course, but he certainly hadn't anticipated being left behind for however long. It didn't take but a few minutes for Sam to fear that Dean didn't plan on coming back at all; in his mind, it was highly possible that Dean was blaming Sam for everything that had gone wrong--again. His panic intensified after he got out of the shower, when Bobby told him that Castiel had gone, too, that Dean had taken the angel and not Sam.

To all parties involved, it made sense that Castiel would follow Dean if he was leaving; he was literally heaven-sent to protect said Winchester, but that logic didn't prevent the sudden irritation Sam felt. Bobby watched him with knowing eyes and said no more on the subject.

Two tense hours passed, with Sam stalking the windows and Bobby sipping amusedly from his flask, before the black sedan roared back onto the lot. With a pang, Sam noted Castiel's profile in _his_ seat as Bobby rolled to the front door. Dean turned off the engine and stepped out of the vehicle, reaching into the backseat to take out what looked like grocery bags.

"I don't understand why you purchased so much food," Cas said as he followed Dean into the house, both arms cradling paper sacks from a supermarket chain the next town over.

"That's 'cause you don't _need_ food," Dean pointed out, speaking tersely, as though he had already explained this to his angelic friend. "You don't get the connection a real man has to what he eats; right, Sammy?" He cast a smile across the book-littered room, easing Sam's worries immensely, though not completely.

"I dunno. I think I'm gonna have to go with Cas on this one, Dean. What is all this?" Sam trailed the other three into the kitchen, where Dean was putting down the three bags he had brought in and working on taking the remaining two from Castiel.

Dean caught Bobby's gaze, and they grinned in mutual understanding. "What's it look like?"

"Gluttony," Castiel muttered in disapproval.

Dean ignored the comment and raised his eyebrows at Sam expectantly, pulling a large, fully cooked turkey from the nearest sack.

And then Sam got it. He instantly recalled one of their most recent Christmases together, when Dean had been dealing with the stress of his imminent death and damnation, when he had insisted on having a real celebration and had made sure to focus on the importance of family while he still had the chance.

"Thanksgiving, boy!" Bobby exclaimed reproachfully when Sam went too long without answering, lost in his own thoughts.

Dean looked at Sam with concern and a hint of disappointment before turning back to organizing the food on the table.

"Where'd you guys get . . . everything?" Sam wondered, staring in awe at the spread, which left barely any space for eating. Honestly, he had completely forgotten what time of year it was.

"We visited multiple establishments," Cas informed, sounding annoyed at the ordeal.

"Yeah, this stuff came from all over," Dean confirmed.

"We were trying to find the cooked turkey," Castiel added, "though I still don't see its importance."

"It's tradition" was the only explanation he got as Dean moved to set the pre-made pies on the counter, pausing briefly to admire the feast-fit table.

Sam held back a laugh and pointed at the horn-shaped object he had just noticed in the center of the arrangement. "Is that a cornucopia?"

Dean shrugged. "I figured people have decorations when they do these things," he replied, almost embarrassed. "Cas picked it out."

"It symbolizes excess," Castiel elucidated, critical of the entire concept.

"Yeah, I know." Sam's matter-of-fact tone was a little sharper than necessary, and Bobby sent him a questioning look.

After a moment, awkward only for Sam, Dean snatched a package of disposable plates from the last bag and held them up suggestively. "Are we just gonna stand here and _stare_ at the food? Let's eat!"

Though Dean practically had to force a heaping plate into Castiel's hands, all four of them were soon loosening their belts a notch and leaning back in their seats as much as possible, filled to the brim with stuffing, potatoes, turkey, and gravy.

"That was great," Sam declared, voice low with satiation.

"Best idea ever," Dean complimented himself, rubbing his distended stomach happily.

"I'll say," Bobby grunted in agreement. "Happy Thanksgiving."

Cas just looked confused as the men raised their beer bottles for a toast.

Eventually, Dean yawned and rose from his chair, grabbing another drink from the fridge and heading into the den, where he could recline more easily as his dinner worked its magic. Sam frowned when Castiel immediately stood to follow his charge, exiting the kitchen quietly and without justification. Forehead furrowed over angry eyes, Sam reached for the dirty dishes his brother and the angel had left and took them to the trashcan in the corner of the room. He may have even huffed a bit as he returned to the table to wrap up leftovers, but when he slammed the refrigerator door for the third time, Bobby had to ask,

"You mind tellin' me what's got you in a mood before you break my best appliance?"

Sam's scowl only darkened, and he continued cleaning. "Don't wanna talk about it, Bobby."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "It ain't like I don't know you're jealous. Admit it, and we can _get_ to talkin'."

Sam sighed, miffed that Bobby had seen through him so easily, when he hardly wanted to own up to it, himself. "Okay . . . I guess I just . . . Dean spends a lot of time with Castiel," he grumbled.

"That's a start," Bobby encouraged. "You think he's replacin' you?"

"Yes," Sam confessed, pouting like a child.

"Well, you're wrong." Sam looked up, hoping for clarification and finally putting down the mashed potatoes he was rewrapping with cellophane. "That boy couldn't replace you if he tried. You're like Siamese twins, the way you two need each other. Just 'cause he's found a friend in Cas doesn't mean anything's changed."

Sam wavered uncertainly. "But . . . he didn't take me with him today."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "Shopping? You're upset he didn't take you _shopping_? I oughta slap you."

"It's not that he didn't take me shopping," Sam corrected, offended. "It's that it was a family thing, and instead of taking me, his _brother_, he took an angel. And he let him choose the decorations for dinner. And now, when we should all be drinking and spending time together, he and Cas are off doing whatever it is they do, and I'm in here, with you."

"Didn't know I was such bad company," Bobby ruminated teasingly, and Sam flushed at his unintentional rudeness.

"Sorry, Bobby. I didn't mean--"

"I know you didn't _mean_. You're just an idgit, like your brother. Now, listen to me. Ya gotta understand he's _grieving_. He doesn't want you around, tryin' ta talk to 'im about his feelings. That might be why he likes having that angel with 'im right now; he hardly knows what feelings _are_, let alone how to bring 'em up in conversation."

"Oh." In all his mulling, Sam truly hadn't thought of that, but it would have been just like Dean to purposely surround himself with non-threatening discussion and an emotion-free environment.

"Give Dean a break, Sam. He needs it." Bobby wheeled out from his place at the table and nudged Sam reassuringly. "But if it's family you're worried about, I'm sure he won't mind seein' you; he needs his brother, too."

Sam smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Bobby." He waved his hand at the remaining mess. "I'll clean this up later," he promised, turning toward the door.

"Don't worry about it; knowin' you boys, all this'll spoil before either of you gets around to cleaning." Sam hesitated in the doorway. "Get outta here . . . And remember, family don't end with blood." Without any kind of translation, Sam knew what Bobby's mantra meant.

The den was tinted bronze by the flames that crackled in its fireplace, silhouetting Castiel's head over the tall back of the only couch Bobby owned, the stuffing of which was popping out at the seams.

"Dean?" Sam called, and the angel turned to watch his approach.

"Huh?"

Sam rounded the sofa and spotted his brother, who was sprawled over most of the cushions with his arms behind his head and his feet in Castiel's lap. After his talk with Bobby, Sam could almost appreciate the camaraderie between the two, and there was no spite in his question, "What're you doing?"

"Well, I _was_ sleeping before you woke me up," Dean griped, but there was a smile in his eyes.

"Dean claims that turkey meat makes humans very tired," Castiel pitched in, his voice expressing the doubts he had about that allegation.

"Nah, he's just lazy," Sam countered playfully.

"You're telling me that dinner didn't make you wanna sleep for days?" Dean asked pointedly, gratified by Sam's unconscious yawn. "I'll take that as a yes," he approved smugly, and after a beat, he offered, "Wanna sit?"

Before Sam had a chance to reply, Dean was swinging his feet off Cas and onto the floor, leaving just enough space for another person to fit snugly, so Sam plopped into the seat, between the stoic angel and his grinning brother. Sam quickly learned the reason for that grin when Dean's legs flew over his, trapping him in place.

"_Dean_," he complained.

"That's better," Dean sighed, taking a swig of beer and watching Sam's expression go from aggravated to accepting.

"I'm going to the kitchen for a slice of pie," Castiel announced suddenly, used to vanishing when the brothers needed time alone, but without pretense, Sam hooked an arm around his shoulders; and Dean dug his heels into his thigh, effectively stopping his retreat.

"You make too good of a pillow to leave," Dean told him bossily.

"Yeah, Cas; you're like part of the family." Wondering what his reaction would be, Sam glanced at Dean and caught the relief and appreciation in his eyes. In seconds, Sam understood the overarching truth that all Dean had ever wanted was a support system, a family to keep him steady when his emotions weren't, even if that family wasn't exactly conventional.


End file.
